"There are persons who perhaps need a fairy godmother, whom money
cannot help," the Candy Man continued thoughtfully. "There's an old
man--not so old either--a sad grey man, whom the children on our block
call the Miser. I am not an adept in reading faces, but I am sure there
is nothing mean in his. It is only sad. I get interested in people,"
he added.

"So do I," cried his companion. "And of course, you are right. The Fairy
Godmother Society would have to have more than one department. Naturally
opera tickets would not do your man any good--unless we could get him to
send them."

They laughed over this clever idea, and the Candy Man went on to say
that there were lonely people in the world, who, through no fault of
their own, were so circumstanced as to be cut off from those common
human relationships which have much to do with the flavour of life.

"I don't quite understand," Miss Bentley began. But these young persons
were not to be left to settle the affairs of the universe in one
morning. A handkerchief waved in the distance by a stoutish lady,
interrupted. "There's Cousin Prue," Miss Bentley cried, springing to
her feet.

Hastily dividing her flowers into two bunches, she thrust one upon the
Candy Man. "For your sick boy. You won't mind, as it isn't far. I have
so enjoyed talking to you, Mr. McAllister. I shall hope to see you soon
again. Aunt Eleanor often speaks of you."

This sudden descent to the conventional greatly embarrassed the Candy